At the office, we had the farewell to the switchboard operator who’d been replaced by the new phone system – someone who had been there when I arrived two decades earlier.
Oh, the weird calls we’d get, the ones she usually screened yet some still managed to slip past her.
The woman from California, “Can you tell me what state New Hampshire’s in?” and I wanted to reply, “How the hell did you get this number?”
All of the ones wanting to know my opinion, as if it mattered.
Or the drunks or the individuals convinced of this conspiracy or that. Especially late at night.
As the publisher told one, “What do you think this is, a call-in radio show?”
Listen. We’ve got work to do, rather than yap. Piles and piles of work.
Oh, my, the telephones! They become a chorus of their own in my novel, Hometown News.